<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>not just pretty words to say by Waywarder</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713134">not just pretty words to say</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder'>Waywarder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), References to Shakespeare, Songfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:33:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>After Crowley drops him off That Afternoon, Aziraphale makes it about two steps into the bookshop, the door having softly swung shut behind him, when it hits him like a freight train, like a meteor, like a champion boxer square across the jaw.</i>
</p>
<p>Title lovingly stolen from Elton John's "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>not just pretty words to say</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to silvercolour for their incredible help!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>I thought I knew.</i>
</p>
<p>After Crowley drops him off That Afternoon, Aziraphale makes it about two steps into the bookshop, the door having softly swung shut behind him, when it hits him like a freight train, like a meteor, like a champion boxer square across the jaw.</p>
<p>“I love him,” he gasps out loud, bringing a hand up to his needless, needy heart in… well, it can’t be surprise, can it? How can you be surprised by something you know in your own guts and bones like you know your own name? Like you know Shakespeare or the Bible or Beatles lyrics?</p>
<p>He is only two steps into the bookshop and he is entirely bereft at Crowley’s absence. Before, it was necessary. <i>Take your time. Keep your distance. Look over your shoulder. Make it to another day, another glance, another stolen moment.</i>  </p>
<p>There had been just so much to consider regarding The End of the World, Aziraphale has hardly taken the time to consider what it actually means for him, for them. He hadn’t thought beyond lunch at the Ritz, because there has never been a “beyond” before. There had just been schemes and excuses and near-catastrophes bringing them together.</p>
<p>Now… well, they can bring themselves together. If they want.</p>
<p>Aziraphale wants. </p>
<p>It isn’t that he hasn’t imagined this moment before, mind. No, over the centuries, Aziraphale has found himself lost in daydream after daydream of having the opportunity to say all the right things, all the best things. In these fantasies, he has time to plan, he has time to do it all just perfectly. To bring the right token of affection, to be appropriately winsome and dashing and handsome and lovable. </p>
<p>Today, two steps into the bookshop, he feels an urgency he didn’t know he could ever feel again after the World Didn’t End. Because he feels as though his world still could. It’s as though someone has rewound the videotape of his heart and he is replaying every thoughtless word and every unkind moment since the beginning of time. And now he is desperate to press his fingertips to the fast forward button, to sprint past “You go too fast for me, Crowley,”; to at last be brave and fast and free himself. </p>
<p>He stands frozen inside of that second step into the bookshop for what feels like another eternity until something joyous breaks in him. Something greater than the fear and the anxiety. Something blinding and glorious in the simple truth of it.</p>
<p>“Crowley loves me too,” Aziraphale whispers out loud to no one, to everyone, to Someone. </p>
<p>Of course he does. <i>Of course he does.</i> This is the point: there is no need for fear any longer. Aziraphale doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both over it. The world exists and he loves Anthony J. Crowley and Anthony J. Crowley loves him and he does not have to spend a single other second of his life pretending anything to the contrary.</p>
<p>Without a glance forward or backward, Aziraphale snaps his fingers.</p>
<p>Even at Crowley’s demonic speeds, Aziraphale makes it to the flat just before the demon does. Aziraphale hears a low, faint warble of a song just outside the door before it flies open:</p>
<p>
  <i>“I thank the Lord for the people I have found...”</i>
</p>
<p>The door opens and Crowley strides inside. The next bit happens very fast.</p>
<p>At the first, Crowley’s jaw drops and his eyebrows rise and he says, with a hope suggesting maybe he already knows: “Angel?”</p>
<p>At the second, Aziraphale brings both his hands to his heart as though it will otherwise burst out of his chest and he says, “My dearest Crowley.”</p>
<p>At the third and last, they crash together. A struck cymbal of a beginning and a finale all at once.</p>
<p>They’re a mess of it, to tell you the truth, each undecided as to which is most important in this moment: kissing fervently or wrenching briefly apart to stammer out, “I love you. No, you don’t understand, you idiot, <i>I love you.</i> Always, always, of course, forever, I love you.” </p>
<p>They take turns speaking one another’s languages. Crowley pulls away to hold Aziraphale’s face between his hands and to stroke his cheeks with his thumbs while pouring into him every beautiful word he knows. Aziraphale, legs shaking and teeth chattering, nods ferociously and yanks Crowley back to him, determined to memorize him like a song. </p>
<p>They collapse onto the sofa, neither of them entirely certain how they got there. Turned into one another, knees kissing, they pull away again and hold one another by the face, foreheads resting against one another. They close their eyes and take deep, gasping breaths, not because they need them, but just to prove: This is real. This is happening. The Earth remains and we are kissing upon its surfaces. </p>
<p>“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley murmurs again, over and over. </p>
<p>“I have loved you for so terribly long, Crowley,” Aziraphale can’t bear it. He wraps his arms around Crowley’s neck and embraces him tightly. The words still don’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough.</p>
<p>“Always sort of hoped so,” Crowley admits against Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale squeezes him tighter.</p>
<p><i>Hope is the thing with feathers,</i> Aziraphale thinks and tries not to cry. Crowley feels it, hears the hitch of breath, and settles back against the sofa, softly tugging Aziraphale down with him, settling the angel against his chest, against his heartbeat. </p>
<p>They rise and fall together now.</p>
<p>“I love you,” Crowley says again, can’t stop saying it, can’t stop running his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s back.</p>
<p>“How do you love me?” Aziraphale can’t resist it, can’t stop himself now. He thinks he can hear the crack of Crowley’s grin across his handsome face.</p>
<p>“<i>With adorations,</i>” Crowley recites nimbly, perfectly. (He prefers the funny ones, you see.) “<i>With fertile tears. With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.</i>”</p>
<p>Aziraphale snuggles closer into Crowley’s chest, letting his eyes fall shut. There is nothing else to look for now. He is exactly where he wants to be. He does not expect sleep to steal over him, but, then, he has also never felt so safe in his entire life. Years of worry and doubt seep away from him, held so surely in Crowley’s arms, and he dreams of marigolds and willow trees and little lemon cakes with sweet sugar icing.</p>
<p>Crowley, on the other hand, does not sleep this time. For he has never known a dream better than this. He stays up, keeps watch for any lingering boogeymen lurking in the shadows. He rests his cheek against the unruly cloud of Aziraphale’s hair and peers into the future as day turns to night turns to day. </p>
<p>“I love you,” he keeps whispering. </p>
<p>
  <i>And I thank the Lord for the people I have found.</i>
</p>
<p>In the morning (because there are mornings now): They walk hand in hand to the nearest cafe and they sit in the sunshine, and they hold hands above the table and they lean forward on their elbows, and they smile and smile and smile over tea and coffee and pastries and kisses.</p>
<p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale begins.</p>
<p>“Yes, Aziraphale?”</p>
<p>“I love you.”</p>
<p>
  <i>And now I know.</i>
</p>
<p>(Perhaps he always did.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! I really wanted to write a fluffy little something for my one year fic anniversary! Thanks for reading and commenting and all that lovely stuff. I know I've become a better writer this year thanks to reading and writing fic, and I also feel like I'm a happier person for being a part of this beautiful fandom community. </p>
<p>I hope you have a wonderful day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>